


My Regina

by sometimesmyheadhurts (PolarBearMorgan)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Russian Novel, Dancing, Extramarital Affairs, F/F, Horseback Riding, Implied/Referenced Marital Rape, Slow Burn, background Snowing, duels, past swanfire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarBearMorgan/pseuds/sometimesmyheadhurts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gaze shared across a train platform sparks an affair that threatens to change everything: for better or worse. A challenge is placed that requires fighting for the ones they love most. </p><p>Inspired by Russian Literature, but a story of its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for clicking on this fic. There are a few things that I want to get out of the way and establish before the story begins, since this is an AU an some context might be nice.
> 
> While this work was inspired by Russian literature (most noticeably early on inspired by Anna Karenina), it doesn't completely follow any one story, rather it takes some plot lines, characters and ideas from several works of Russian lit and it runs with it. The ending of this fic will _not_ be the ending of Anna Karenina.
> 
> Secondly, like how the Enchanted Forest is set in a world based on medieval Europe, the world that this is set in is a world based on Imperial Russia. It's not a direct correspondence. There won't be Russian names, so don't worry. Russian places have been substituted with names of places in OUAT, though Storybrooke will be based on Moscow, and Misthaven on St Petersburg. There will be some cultural elements brought in, and I'll make sure that it's clear what's going on.
> 
> On that note, some cultural context: in Imperial Russia, a Prince or Princess is a rank in the Russian nobility (it doesn't mean the person is the son or daughter of the tsar). 
> 
> Okay, that should be all that's needed for you to enjoy this chapter! I hope you read it and leave kudos or comments (or both). 
> 
> Thank you!

As she watched the countryside rush past in a blur of birch trees and dreary farms covered in snow, Regina couldn’t help but try to remember the words she had read once about happy families: how they were all the same, but unhappy families were all unique in their unhappiness. Briefly she wondered what it would be like to be a part of one of those boring, happy families. No fear or guilt or shame. No seething rage bubbling underneath a calculated smile. No silences colder than a winter’s night.

She took her eyes away from the window long enough to look at the letter in her hand. She honestly wished that she could say that she had been surprised by the contents of the letter, but this was her family, and nothing surprised her anymore.

Through her legs and back resting against the soft red fabric of the seat, and the soles of her boots, Regina felt the vibrations of the train begin to change. A glance through the window confirmed her suspicion. The train was slowing down. Individual trees were becoming clearer. She could see the papery, brown leaves still clinging to the thinnest branches of bare trees despite the harsh winter wind.

The gentle deceleration of the train into the station didn’t distract Regina long from her thoughts. A troubled mind couldn’t be distracted for long, and Regina had far too many troubles. Not noting the faces or dress of the passengers boarding the train or even the name of the station, she rested her head lightly against the cool glass. She wasn’t aware of how long the train stopped, instead, she was imaging all the possible ways that this could all go wrong and what she should do in each case. With her sister, preparing for the worst was always required. Dimly, Regina was aware that the train had started moving again, but she cared little. 

With a rattling wheeze, the door to the compartment slid open. Regina started, pulling away from the window and her thoughts to fix her dark eyes on the interloper to her compartment. As Regina surveyed the woman, she couldn’t stop her lips from pursing with displeasure. Through the slightly opened door, Regina could see the markings of a high-born lady. An elegantly cut ivory overcoat that complimented the woman’s pale complexion and contrasted nicely with her ebony hair and bright eyes. Fashionable, yes, but not to Regina’s taste.

“There is no where else to sit in first class,” the stranger said, the slightest hint of nervousness creeping into her voice. “No place proper at least. May I join you in your compartment?”

A belated attempt at politeness. “If there is no where else to sit…” It was late in the train’s journey, so Regina supposed that the woman could be speaking the truth. Perhaps all the other compartments were taken by men. Though the remaining portion of the journey to Storybrooke was not a long one, it was certainly enough time to ruin a reputation.

The woman beamed and stepped fully into the compartment. “Thank you so much for this kindness.” She sat down across from Regina and took off her pale leather gloves delicately revealing each long, slender finger. “I won’t forget it.”

“It’s just a seat… Miss…”

“Blanchard. Princess Mary Margaret Blanchard,” offered the woman brightly. Delicately, Mary Margaret set her gloves down on the seat beside her.

Regina knew the family name, a consequence of her mother’s insistence that her daughter would grow up in the proper way. “Pleased to meet you, Princess,” Regina said softly, her eyes already flicking towards the window. After remembering that the Blanchard’s held land in these parts from her mother’s tutelage, her mind had quickly drifted to thoughts about her mother, and how desperately she hoped that that woman had heard nothing. As far as Regina knew, no letter had been sent to her - Walsh might be stupid, but he wasn’t _that_ stupid - but Cora had her ways of finding out. She always found out, or at least, with Regina it seemed that way.

The younger woman leaned forward. “And may I ask you what your name is?”

Resisting the urge to sigh and tell Mary Margaret that she would prefer to be left in peace, she sat up straight. She was a proud woman, and she knew that under all circumstances it was best to make that completely clear. “ Princess Regina White.” Though it had been a little over a decade, the name still felt strange in her mouth. Foreign. Someone who she didn’t know.

“Oh!” Mary Margaret smiled, her fair cheeks taking on a rosy glow (from embarrassment or excitement, Regina couldn’t honestly care less). “You’re Leopold White’s wife. My fiance mentioned your husband’s promotion. He quite admires his work.”

“Really? I’m afraid that my husband doesn’t discuss his profession with me, so I can’t really offer you anything interesting to tell your fiance.” Interesting was the last word that could describe her husband’s work. The only thing she and Leopold ever discussed that had any real interest to Regina was Henry.

With a dismissive wave, Mary Margaret shook her head, “It’s fine. I understand. Not every man trusts his wife with his work. My David is unique --”

_My David._ Regina’s stomach churned with disgust. Mary Margaret wasn’t even married to the man and already she possessed him. The Princess Mary Margaret might be young, but not so young for such naivety. She was older than Regina had been when she had given up such foolish notions. Regina knew that she couldn’t keep the distaste for the expression from her face, but the other woman didn’t seem to even notice as she kept on prattling about what her future husband did for the government, even if his true passion was farming and he preferred to spend his time in the country. 

“-- Just being able to say that I met you will impress him,” concluded Mary Margaret with a happy sigh. The bright smile on her face radiated love and contentedness.

Regina hoped that that would be the end of the stranger’s monologue and unfolded the letter her brother-in-law had sent. She had read it a dozen times before, but at the moment it was either pretend to read the letter again or look at Mary Margaret or the repetitive landscape for the next hour or so until they reached Storybrooke. She needed the hour to finish planning what she would do, to finish seeing how everything could unravel. She needed this time.

She almost groaned out loud when that girlish voice started up again.

“I’m actually going to Storybrooke to find a wedding dress.”

Did the fact that her eyes weren’t moving across the page give her away? Or was Mary Margaret oblivious to anything but her own life? Regina was fairly certain that it was the latter. “Dressed like you are now, I don’t think anyone would question you as a bride.” The woman was already wearing white, not that Regina herself would get married in an overcoat.

Mary Margaret nodded. “That’s true, actually. White’s my favorite color. And I really would get married to him in anything, you know.”

“I can imagine,” she said softly, leaning back against the faded red seat, resigning herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to have any quiet with Mary Margaret Blanchard in her compartment.

“Do you keep a place in Storybrooke?” continued the fair one. “My best friend, Emma, she keeps a place there, so I will be staying with her.”

“How nice.” Regina wondered how much longer she would have to last hearing about this woman’s friends and fiance and absolutely dull life.

***

The sun had set by the time the train pulled into the station. Regina couldn’t get up quickly enough to leave. She took her travel bag and muff and flew out of the compartment, a whirl of black fabric and fur. She ignored Mary Margaret’s wishes of farewell and invitations to see each other again in Storybrooke, giving only the smallest of nods to the woman who she had spent the past hour sitting across from. She didn’t want to spend another second with that insufferable woman. While she couldn’t say that she had been looking forward to seeing Walsh and sorting out his problems with her half-sister, she would choose that over spending more time with Mary Margaret.

Unfortunately, escape wasn’t so easy. As the other passengers came out of their compartments into the corridor, Regina found her exit slowed until it virtually came to a stop. Sighing softly, Regina glanced over her shoulder, hoping that Mary Margaret wasn’t right behind her. A small burst of relief came over her when she saw five gentleman between her and the white-clad woman. 

She felt a gust of cold air blow in from the open train door as she approached the exit. She shivered slightly, despite her warm coat and hat. As soon as she stepped off the train and onto the station’s platform, Regina peered out into the gaslit twilight to search for her brother in law. She walked down the platform, the heels of her boots clicking with each step. Her dark eyes scanned the station, trying to pick Walsh’s unfortunate face out of the crowd. She knew he ought to be here. She had sent word ahead. The train hadn’t exactly arrived early. No, actually based on the time on the station’s clock, it had arrived on the late side of things.

Suddenly she stopped, almost stumbling mid-pace. The brightness of the red jacket against the muted greys and browns worn by most of the people walking about on the platform drew her eye. Regina couldn’t help it. Her attention gravitated towards it. All thoughts of Zelena and Walsh vanished from her mind immediately.

The jacket made Regina notice the graceful curve as the woman’s waist turned into her hips. Above the collar, the blonde triangle on the back of her neck underneath an elegantly swept up bun. The style wasn’t one that Regina would ever wear herself, but on this woman, Regina couldn’t help but find it remarkable.

The stranger turned as if sensing the intense gaze upon her. For the briefest moment, Regina could have sworn that despite the crowd on the platform, their eyes met.

“Regina!”

Bitter surprise struck her at the sound of her name. She turned around, heart pounding, to see her brother-in-law standing there with that uneven smile she had seen him wear on his wedding day so many years ago. “Walsh,” she said softly. She would have walked towards him, but her feet wouldn’t move.

Briskly, the man closed the distance between the two of them. “I have a troika waiting for us outside the station.” He motioned for her to come along.

It took a surprising amount of effort for Regina to will herself to walk forward, away from the woman in the red jacket, towards Walsh and the unpleasant mess that she needed to untangle before Cora caught wind of it.

“I hope your journey was pleasant,” he said as they walked off the platform.

Regina shrugged her fur clad shoulder. “It was long--”

“The journey between Misthaven and Storybrooke always is. Better than Oz though.”

Regina cast her brother-in-law a sidelong look of annoyance. “And for the last part of the trip, my traveling companion was hardly a pleasure to meet.” They were finally out of the station.

As he helped Regina up into the troika, Walsh said, “You probably won’t see her… or him again. Storybrooke is large enough for that.” 

She settled herself in the seat and pulled the blanket up over her lap. With the sun set, Regina could see her breath hanging in the air. The troika jostled slightly as Walsh took his place beside her and leaned forward to instruct the driver. Peering out into the darkness, Regina bit her lip, hoping. The bustling of people, carriages and horses outside of the station revealed nothing.

“I appreciate you coming to smooth this all out,” said Walsh, leaning back against the bench. “Zelena has been… well… you know how your sister gets.” 

Regina heard the crack of the whip as the driver spurred the horses into action. 

“Yes. I certainly do.” Growing up with her sister, Regina already knew how her Zelena probably reacted. Jealousy. Rage. Spite. Revenge had probably already been planned. Regina couldn’t help but feel that for once Zelena just might be justified.

The rest of the drive, was spent in silence. The jingling of the bells on the horse’s harness and the sliding of the steel runners against the snow seemed enough for both her and Walsh. There was little that Regina wanted to say to Walsh - really little that she would say here at this moment - and Walsh seemed so wrapped up in his own mind that sustaining a conversation was beyond hope.

The grand buildings and elegant terraces passed by. The people walking along the sidewalk took no interest in yet another horse drawn sleigh and its passengers. Little shops and restaurants spilled light onto the street.

  
The driver tugged on the rein, and the horses quickly came to a stop. Regina looked up at the home she had only been to a handful of times before. The outside of the building hadn’t changed in the least. Through the illuminated windows, she could see into the parlor. She recognized the wallpaper in the children’s room. As Walsh paid the driver, Regina watched the pale redhead staring out the window, eyes like daggers, down at her husband. Regina sighed. She had her work cut out for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my first venture into multi-chapter OUAT fanfiction (and Swan Queen fanfiction). I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you come back for the next chapter.
> 
> I promise that after the next chapter there will be more action and minimal Zelena and Walsh nonsense. Right now the stage just needs to be set for Emma and Regina.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!  
> -Morgan


	2. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Regina attempts to smooth things over between her sister and her husband, Emma revisits the gaze she and a stranger shared at the train station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for a chapter, but I hope this chapter makes the wait worthwhile.

If it hadn’t been so long since she had last seen her best friend, Emma might have allowed herself to get lost in thought as was her habit. Instead, she had to listen to every word from Mary Margaret’s lips.

“It always amazes me just how beautiful Storybrooke is this time of year,” breathed Mary Margaret as the troika passed through the downtown. “The countryside is lovely, yes, but Storybrooke has a unique beauty. I don’t think you can find it anywhere else. Not in Misthaven or Oz or Arendelle--”

“Have you even been to Arendelle?” asked Emma with an amused smile as she watched her best friend take in the sights that she had grown so used to since coming to Storybrooke five years ago she no longer saw them. She had passed Grand Theatre so many times she no longer marveled at the carved pillars, and she had long ceased to search the skyline for the domes of the palace. She simply went about her life. Still, it was always fun to see how her friends from out of the city took in what had ceased to inspire wonder in her.

“No, but between you, Elsa and Anna, I feel as though I have,” said Mary Margaret with a shrug. “Anna has invited David and me to say with her and Kristoff as a honeymoon. I think that it would be a nice holiday to take.”

Emma nodded in agreement. She had visited her foster sister and her husband in Arendelle before and she could already think of at least a dozen places to recommend to Mary Margaret. 

“The trip will be long, but I will have David with me, and I always wind up with the most interesting travelling companions.” A gust of wind blew through the passing alley, and Mary Margaret wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself as she continued, “Today for example, I shared a compartment with none other than the Princess Regina White.” 

Blinking, Emma tried to remember if she had ever heard that name before. She hadn’t, she was sure. She would have remembered a name like that.

“Oh! There’s your place--” 

“Ingrid’s place,” corrected Emma, though she knew that Mary Margaret would probably continue to refer to it as her place the way she had since she had taken up residence there. Though Ingrid had always maintained ‘what’s mine is yours’ when it came to her three wards, Emma had never felt that it was right for her to consider anything of Ingrid’s hers, like she was a guest in what everyone insisted was her home. 

The carriage drew to a slow stop. The horse shook her mane, letting the tiny bells jingle gently in the night air. Though the driver offered his hand to help Emma out of the sleigh, she leapt down to the snowy street herself. She watched as Mary Margaret accepted the driver’s help to get down and smiled as one of Ingrid’s servants picked up her trunk.

“Come,” said Emma, taking Mary Margaret’s gloved hand in hers. “I’m sure Ingrid has a feast waiting for us.”  


*** 

In Regina's family, dinners were tense more often than not. Despite the hostile looks exchanged across the table, both Regina and her sister were able to eat a healthy meal. Regina did have an extra glass of wine, but that was mostly self defense. Walsh, on the other hand, seemed incapable of doing anything except pushing his food from one side of the plate and then to the other while either sighing or glowering. Regina couldn't tell whether it was an act of contrition that couldn't mask his anger or if he did feel so desperately conflicted. Frankly it didn't matter to her. At least now she could say with certainty that her ten year old son had better manners than a grown man, though really calling Walsh a man was an exaggeration.

As the maid cleared away the meal, Regina looked from one end of the table to the other. Really, the table was better suited for eight or even ten diners instead of the three currently sitting down.

Walsh gave her a small impatient nod. Regina brushed a lock of her black hair behind her ear that had come loose. She had followed his request to not bring the matter up until dinner was finished, mostly because she wasn’t looking forward to what smoothing over this whole mess required.

Regina turned to her half sister. This had been the moment she had been dreading and planning. “Sister.” How she hated that word. “I’ve heard that there has been some discord in your marriage--”

Zelena let out a hollow laugh. “And I wonder what little bird told you,” she said, scowling at Walsh. 

“Yes, and let’s be happy it wasn’t from gossip or worse,” Regina said, allowing her voice to drop to a low, warning tone, “from our mother.” She couldn’t help but feel a little bit satisfied at the way Zelena stiffened at the mention of Cora Mills. Both sisters knew the ways that their mother would have expressed her displeasure and the lengths she would go to make sure their family still had a place in society. “I personally believe that it would be best if this whole situation were smoothed over before some scandal comes of it.” There was no need of reminding Zelena of what their mother had done the last time there had been the possibility of a scandal. 

As if every word caused her pain, Zelena managed, “I have no interest in a scandal.” She took a breath and flashed a false smile that Regina saw through. “I simply would like a husband who doesn’t flirt with the maid, who doesn’t put my diamonds on the governess.”

Regina doubted that the jewels that Walsh gave her sister were truly precious gems, and everything she knew about her sister made her sure that Zelena knew the difference. Perhaps that was what made the matter more sore for her.

“Zelena,” sighed Walsh. “I just--”

Quickly, “Really it would be better if you didn’t talk,” interjected Regina. “You asked me to come here to smooth things over between yourself and Zelena. Here I am. Let me do my job.” She looked from her brother-in-law to her sister. “From where I’m…” she allowed herself a small grin, “sitting, both of you are behaving foolishly and really just like children.” She saw both Zelena and Walsh beginning to object to her criticism, so she continued on, refusing to allow her bit to get buried in their self-defense. “You have both done wrong. It’s really pathetic that you needed me to come all the way out to Storybrooke from Misthaven just to tell you that, but in our family, I wouldn’t expect anything else. Neither one of you listen, and we can’t let Mother hear about this.”

At least no one seemed to object to that very obvious fact. It was to absolutely no one’s advantage that Cora Mills find out about this drama in her family.

Regina continued, “Walsh, you shouldn’t flirt with the governess, you shouldn’t sleep with the maid, or whatever else you have done that I haven’t heard of yet, or that you’re planning on doing. Don’t do things you know will earn the jealousy and ire of your wife. You know by now just how bad she is with envy.” She directed her gaze to her sister. “Zelena, don’t be so easy to provoke, and don’t make stupid threats about leaving and taking the children with you.” Her sister had always been impulsive enough to do something as disastrous as that, and that had been a large part of the reason Regina had come. The thought that her sister could and quite possibly would do something that stupid was a somewhat terrifying thought. “You’d ruin yourself and our family. I know you love your children, and you wouldn’t ruin their futures for some spat.” She shouldn’t, but she easily could. “Think about the effect your actions will have on their lives. Think about that any time Walsh ever… the next time Walsh does something stupid.” It was going to happen again, of that Regina was sure.

Silence fell over the room again until Zelena pushed her chair back from the table and got to her feet. “I don’t like being attacked like this, Regina,” she spat. “You’re a guest in my home--” 

“My home,” said Walsh with a smug smile.

Zelena let out an exasperated cry, and as the tendons in her neck tensed, Regina wondered if it would be better to stand aside to let her sister at Walsh or to try to stop her from lunging at her husband. In the end, it didn’t matter. The other woman left the dining room in a storm of red hair and green silk. 

As the sound of her retreating sister faded, Regina said, “That went about as well as I expected.” She glanced around to catch the eye of a servant. “I think we both are in need of some Port.”

***

Sleep was eluding Emma. This was hardly the first time that Emma had found herself pacing around rooms and corridors. Insomnia had plagued her nights for years. She could not longer remember when it had started, but she was confident that it had really gotten worse and more frequent after Neal.

Emma knew that it was a bad idea to think about him. If she started thinking about that time in her life now, then she wouldn’t be able to stop for the rest of the night. It would become a spiral she couldn’t pull herself out of. After having spent many nights occupied with just that particular subject and all the wrong that thad been done, she knew exactly how her night would go and the well worn paths her mind would take to all come to the same painful lack of conclusions.

Instead, she tried to focus on other things. Emma slipped out of her bed and crept to the door of her room that would lead to the outer chamber that connected her room to the room her foster sisters had once occupied that now housed her sleeping best friend. For a moment, she paused at the blue door with its elegant trailing carvings painted in gold. Her hand rested on the door handle, tempted to her friend and wake her for the distraction. Mary Margaret would not mind, she knew. Her best friend had dealt with her on other sleepless nights, offering her distractions and tea, yawning as she told stories or played chess, only asking once what thoughts were troubling her and respecting Emma’s desire to not want to talk about such things. Mary Margaret understood it as part of her job as a best friend. Tonight, however, Emma did not want to wake Mary Margaret.

Her slippered feet made little sound as she walked across the thickly carpeted room in semi-circles around her bed. She found her mind drifting towards the station. Standing on the platform in the cold, it had felt like ages before the train had pulled into the station slowly, steaming and hissing. Each breath had cut into her throat. She had wrapped her red jacket tightly against herself, wishing the train would hurry up.

The wait wasn’t what drew her to the memory though.

It was those dark eyes that had stared at her so intensely she felt the gaze on her even when she had been turned away looking for Mary Margaret. It wasn’t the first time she had felt that sort of look upon her - that hungry, eager gaze. She had first felt the look from Neal, and he hadn’t been the last. So few times had that look not induced a combination of pity and sadness in her. Depending on the source, sometimes she even felt a certain degree of disgust. This time, however, when she had met the eyes of the woman who fixed her with those deep brown eyes, Emma had felt a surge and a flutter, compelling her to take a step forward in the direction of her. 

The trance had quickly been broken when that stranger had looked away in the direction of a vaguely handsome man. Emma had had no choice but to turn away and go back to looking for Mary Margaret.

The heat of the gaze called back to her, though, which spread through her, growing from below her navel down to her knees. She trembled back to the bed. Lying down on the bed, Emma found her hand sliding down her side to her hip, fingers tracing the arch of her pelvis before going lower still. Her breath quickened as her fingers began to expertly work in circles. Again and again, repeating the pattern she had spent years discovering and perfecting, speeding up, applying more pressure until finally she let out a gasp.

  
The room felt so still and quiet as her breathing returned to normal and her heartbeat once again became something she was scarcely aware of. No longer wide awake, Emma found herself drifting off into dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Kudos and comments would be appreciated.


	3. The Dress Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While helping her friend buy the dress she travelled all this way for, Emma sees the woman who has begun to haunt her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn is very much a real thing, but I assure you, there is going to be developments in this chapter.
> 
> Cultural notes: A name day party is a birthday party. Each day of the year has a saint or several associated with it or celebrated on that day, and traditionally (especially in Russian novels) babies were given the name of the saint of the day they were born. So, birthdays are sometimes celebrated as name days.

The slamming of a door roused Regina from sleep. As she closed her eyes tighter and attempted the bury her head further into her pillows, she let out a soft groan. After a day of traveling and dealing with her sister’s marital nonsense, she had hoped to sleep at least an hour or two past dawn, but it was clear now that Zelena had other ideas.

“Can you believe it!” exclaimed Zelena as she sat down on the foot of Regina’s bed.

The force of her sister sitting down jostled Regina more away and further into annoyance. _I can believe this rudeness,_ she thought bitterly as she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes to stare up into the canopy above the bed. It was just like being back home as a girl. 

“He comes into my room this morning with the maid--”

Regina propped herself up on her elbows wondering just what sort of bawdy house scene was about to be inflicted upon her.

“To bring me my breakfast--”

Regina let out a silent sigh. She hadn’t even been woken up for something mildly interesting. Just her sister complaining about the company she had for breakfast. 

Completely unaware of her sister’s disinterest, Zelena continued, eyes blazing, “And inform me that in order to present the proper appearance we are going to go to Marian’s name day party together. We go together. We come back together. We pretend that none of this is happening.”

 _If only none of this were happening,_ thought Regina, starting to get out of bed. 

“Nevermind that I had no intention of going and that I find her barely tolerable,” Zelena was saying. “All she does is talk about her latest charity or how she’s helping Neverland orphans or refugees of Agrabah.”

Wrapping herself with her dressing robe, Regina started tuning her sister out. She could already see where this was going. Her sister would insist that she come along, despite it being rude to bring an extra guest, just to act as a buffer between her and Walsh. Even though she didn’t want to be impolite, Regina knew that she would have absolutely no choice in the matter. She would have to go to make sure that her sister and Walsh kept to their best behavior and didn’t create a scene that would be the talk of society from here to Arendelle. At least if she was there, she could step in and prevent the worst from happening. 

That was her hope, at least.

***

Shopping for a wedding dress was something Emma had never imagined herself doing. Even when she had thought, ever so briefly, years ago that there might be a chance a ward like her without a title, a family or a dowry could marry, the dress that she would have been married in had never been a part of her fantasies. There had just been a vague, general nice dress that she would be married in. Perhaps if things had gone the way her teenage self had wanted, she would have developed a clearer picture or even knew the color she would have been married in. But, that had never been meant to come to pass. She knew that now.

For Mary Margaret, however, Emma Swan was more than willing to embark on a quest she had never dreamed she would -- or really ever as an adult wanted to -- step foot in. Mary Margaret had done plenty of things for her that Emma knew her friend hadn’t enjoyed, so Emma hadn’t even hesitated to help.

The dressmaker’s shop which Emma knew she was going to spend the entirety of her afternoon was comfortable enough. Emma herself had never commissioned or bought a dress from this shop, but it was a place she knew by reputation. Madame Webber’s. Many of the ladies in society found their dresses and gowns here; even ladies who did not call Storybrooke home knew of this place. It was no wonder to Emma that Mary Margaret had chosen this place to make her wedding dress, especially knowing that it would be her friend’s father and not her fiance who would be paying for the dress. Emma sincerely doubted that David’s salary could pay for the sort of dress that Prince L. Blanchard wanted for his daughter. The amount that the Prince doted on his daughter still surprised Emma from time to time, but then again, it hadn’t been too long ago that she had been surprised to receive even a small gift from Ingrid. 

“Oh, Emma,” said Mary Margaret excitedly.

Emma turned around from the red satin she had been fingering, imaging how nice it would be to have a nightdress made from it.

“Just look at this lace!” She held up the fabric for her friend to better see the delicate pattern.

Grinning slightly, Emma said, “It almost looks like snowflakes.” It was the sort of thing she would have expected her friend to like. “It’s very lovely.”

“It’s spun by two sisters up in the Frontlands,” interjected Mrs. Webber. “Such fine work for two… well… they’ve been doing this for longer than my mother’s been alive.” The dressmaker’s thin, lined face made Emma wonder if that was possible. Then again, perhaps threading so many needles had caused those creases. Every time Emma tried to do that herself, her face scrunched up with the effort. Mrs. Webber scribbled a few words quickly on the paper that she had been taking notes on since Mary Margaret had come in and asked if it would be possible to have a wedding dress made. 

Mary Margaret beamed. “It’s perfect! It will go wonderfully with the tulle I picked out for the veil--”

Emma tried not to let it show that she hadn’t even been aware that tulle had been chosen while she had been letting her mind wander. 

“--and the fabrics I have chosen for the dress itself,” she continued. “It’s all coming together marvellously! And Mrs. Webber says she’ll be able to do it all with plenty of time to spare.” The familiar rosy flush of excitement was blooming on her pale cheeks. “I’m so glad that I came. Thank you so much for helping me!” She threw her arms around Emma, holding her and the lace tightly.

The blonde blinked, her mouth opening slightly. “I didn’t really do that much… but… you’re welcome.” 

“Miss Blanchard,” said Mrs. Webber, looking up from her notes. 

The two friends pulled apart.

“Since you have chosen the fabrics and the pattern--” a task which had taken up most of the morning as Mary Margaret and the dressmaker had discussed all of the latest fashions and styles and which would best suit the bride, who frequently asked for Emma’s opinion on the matter, “-- let’s take your measurements so we can get started as soon as possible.” Her tone was polite, but there was an edge to it that commanded swiftness. “This way, please.” She gestured to a curtained off part of the shop. 

“All right,” said Mary Margaret, glancing at Emma.

“Should I...?” she asked, not sure if her friend wanted her to be a part of that part of buying a wedding dress.

Mrs. Webber shook her head. “You needn’t. One of my girl’s will get you some tea.”

Tea again. There had been tea when they had arrived and begun to discuss things with Mrs. Webber. Emma would have preferred coffee then, and her desire for coffee had only grown over the day. But, Emma gave a small smile and a nod, thanking the dressmaker for being so considerate before the woman went off to take measurements while an apprentice quickly dashed off, presumably to fetch the tea. 

Deciding it would be best to make herself comfortable rather than wander around the shop filled with expensive fabrics and gowns with tea in hand, Emma walked to the cabriolet chairs at the front of the shop. Positioned behind the window display of two headless mannequins dressed up in the latest fashion, the chairs offered the perfect vantage point to sit and watch the passersby on the windy street. 

As Emma sat, not bothering to cross her ankles the way she had been taught ladies do as the people outside couldn’t see below her waist and no one was here to keep her company, she watched the scenes of Main Street play out. Two officers in their heavy coats and crisply pressed pants walked past the shops and restaurants across the street, their eyes fixed ahead as they spoke. A schoolboy ran right in front of the window of the dress shop. Had he stopped, Emma might have been able to make out the titles on the spines of the books he held to his chest. Carriages rolled past and a few troikas their sleigh bells jingling faintly through the glass windows. 

For a moment, there was stillness on the street. Not a door opened or pedestrian crossed. The outside world pausing for a breath. 

Suddenly, black crossed into the streetside tableaux of white, grey, blue, and tan. The sharp contrast drew Emma’s eyes to it immediately. 

Her lips parted, and mind stunned into silence, Emma merely marvelled at the women passing in front of the store. Woman. Emma scarcely was aware of the taller woman walking closest to the street. Instead, she stared at the woman from the platform who had visited her fantasies the night before. There was the scar above her lip. The thick black coat had that same dark fur trim around the collar that now picked up red hints in the sunlight.

“Your tea, miss.”

Emma nearly jumped from the chair at the unexpected voice so close to her ear. Covering her discomposure with a smile at the attendant, Emma accepted the teacup and quickly offered thanks. 

Her duty done, the attendant walked away, and Emma quickly turned to look back to the window. Crane her neck and shift around as much as she dared, Emma could not see any sign of the woman or her companion. Emma looked down at the tea, inwardly glowering that it had cost her that opportunity to see the stranger again. 

The sun had dipped down below the buildings by the time Emma felt a light touch on her shoulder. Her eyes followed the hand up to her friend’s smiling face. “Are you done then?” Emma asked, setting the cup of cooled tea down on the carpeted floor. 

“Yes!” said Mary Margaret excitedly. “It’s going to be everything I wanted and more!”

Emma pushed herself up from the chair. “I’m glad. Your wedding dress… you wear it once, but they say it sets the tone for the rest of your life.” As she smoothed the front of her own dress out, she continued, “It should be everything you want.” Though it wasn’t something Emma wanted for herself, she understood just how much it meant to her best friend. There was no other reason she would be here today. 

Tucking a lock of raven black hair behind her ear, Mary Margaret nodded. “And everything he wants it to be.”

“Fortunately he wants you to be happy,” Emma said with a laugh.

Mary Margaret joined her friend in laughing. 

“He’s going to be a great husband,” said Emma. “Not that I know anything about that.” Ingrid had never married, and Mary Margaret was the first of her friends to get married. Still, Emma felt like David was a good man, who treated her friend right, and that hopefully would make a good husband. 

“Oh Emma,” said Mary Margaret, “you know that I trust your instinct.” She paused. “Except for when it comes to fashion.”

After having had this conversation so many times, Emma rolled her eyes. “I think we’ve agreed to disagree on that front.” Mary Margaret was constantly suggesting softer fabrics and flowing patterns. She always thought that florals suited Emma far more than bright, bold colors. Occasionally, Emma agreed to let her friend pick an outfit for an evening or party, but she preferred to dress yourself.

“Okay,” she said with a sigh, “but just promise me that you’ll let me see what you’re wearing to Marian’s name day party.”

Starting to walk to the front of the store, Emma said with a playful smirk, “We shall see.”

***

The carriage ride was miraculously quiet. Regina was thankful for that. Even if she had little choice but to go to this party to make sure that her sister did nothing too embarrassing or that their mother would disapprove of, Regina could at least keep herself entertained with her own thoughts rather than struggling to drown out the chatter of Zelena or Walsh.

The sisters sat side by side, looking out opposite windows. Regina watched the lights of the great city roll by, or at least, the part of the great city that those of her rank were advised to restrict themselves too. A narrow strip in a vast city that though they shared the same name, might as well be different worlds.

As the carriage began to slow, Regina turned her attention away from the window to see her sister adjusting her fur shawl while Walsh straightened up. Finally, the wheels stopped moving and Regina could hear a horse winney. Walsh got to his feet first, and opened the door before the coachman could assist. Delicately, Zelena stood, accepting the coachman’s hand as aid stepping out onto the snowy street.

Refusing to give into the temptation to just sit behind in the carriage and wait until the whole affair was over, Regina left the coach. She glanced up at the house that looked almost indistinguishable from all the other noble houses here. Most of the windows were lit up merrily, steamed up from the bodies inside.

Regina let out a sigh before following her sister and brother-in-law to the steps. Two bodies head of them blocked the light spilling out from the door held open by a servant. A woman in a white coat with hair dark as night, her arm intertwined with a blonde woman sheathed in a blood red jacket. Though Regina could only see their backs as they walked into the townhouse, it was clear enough who they were. She could hear the sound of Mary Margaret chattering away.

Quickening her pace so she was now in step with the taller Zelena, Regina strained to hear what the two women were saying, or rather what the blonde stranger was listening to.

“... I hope that she is able to find them all.”

The blonde murmured something that Regina couldn’t make out.

“Oh, Emma,” sighed Mary Margaret, “I hope you’re right.”

That was all Regina could hear before the two vanished into the warmth of the party.

Falling back behind her sister, Regina spoke softly, repeating the name she had heard her former travel companion say, “Em-ma.” Her lips caressed each syllable, lingering over them adoringly. 

The party didn’t seem like quite so much a waste of time anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter of set-up. Everything will be moving at a quicker pace from here on out.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> -Morgan


End file.
